What happened in those two years?
by Samanthareinzan
Summary: John finds out Sherlock is alive and wants to know where he has been and what the hell happened to cause him to be so physically injured? *can be read on its own but is a sequel to my story Sherlock Lives* *photo credit to brO-Harry of deviantART


Sherlock was alive. Alive. It'd only been a half an hour since John found out...and now...now they were siting across from each other in their chairs back at 221B, chatting as if Sherlock had never been gone. "So." Sherlock began after a bit of comfortable silence. John looked at him in question, "So..? What?" John asked, his brows furrowing. Sherlock's cupid bow lips twitched a tiny smile at John's confusion. "Did you think I wouldn't notice?" "Notice what?" "Oh come on, John!" Sherlock groaned, chuckling a bit. "So, you've dulled a bit in my absence. Don't make me deduce to you-" "Deduce what?!" John asked, utterly oblivious. Sherlock sighed but smiled, he leaned forward so that his elbows were on his knees, then put his hands together and placed them under his chin. "John.. You have clearly moved out of the flat. Your belongings are missing and there is a thin layer of dust about the place. I've been gone two years, many things can happen in two years..Including you moving in with someone-there are no creases in your shirt from folding them-as there used to be, which shows that you have compromised for someone and you now hang your cloths because someone else needs the dresser space. Your trousers are ironed-something you never did yourself, that's also something that another man wouldn't do for you, so a woman then. And a special woman considering you have moved in with her, something you never did with your other dates. Your hair is tousled and its very late, so I assume you left there and came here. Also there is a tiny hint of lipstick on your cheek and your cell phone continues to vibrate every so often. That woman is worried about you." Sherlock stated. John glanced at his phone for the first time and realized Mary had been sending him worried texts. "You'd better answer soon, the messages are growing closer in time, she is obviously becoming even more worried and a little impatient." John quickly sent Mary a text assuring her he was fine. "So, John, when do I get to meet her?" John took a moment to reel himself in. Not only was Sherlock back, but he wanted to meet Mary, he WANTED to go and talk to a real person-other than a client or suspect- that he'd never met.. The world must be ending! "Y-you..? ..want to meet her." John shook his head, a tiny laugh escaping his lips. "Okay.. Well, for starters, her name is Mary. And we've been together for a year and a month now, so yes, she's special. I actually proposed to her a last week." He said with a proud smile. "Oh! Wow..uhm congratulations.." Sherlock said awkwardly. "She was the one to make you better then?" "Hmm?" "I was watching you- not me personally, mind you, a few of the members of my homeless network were- while I was.. Gone. They told me how devastated you were, how depressed and angry you were..how your limp came back...after that I told them to stop watching you. To only inform me if you were in danger.. because I knew I hurt you and I felt I didn't have the right to have insight on your life ..so someone must have lifted you from that stage of mourning. At first I thought maybe one of your friends? Jeremy, Molly, Ms. Hudson? But no, Mary was the one to pick up the damage I'd done.. The one to make you better." "Oh.. Well yeah, she was the one. After your uh..death..Meeting her was the best thing that could've happened to me. And it's Greg." He said, smiling to himself at the thought of his fiancé and choking back a laugh at 'Jeremy'..it was just like old times. "You want to meet her?" "But of course! I have so much I need to talk to her about. So much to thank her for." "I-well.. Okay." John sputtered, still taken aback by Sherlock's request to meet Mary. "Well, she won't be doing much sleeping tonight anyways-she is constantly worrying about me- so...I guess we could go now?" "Alright!" Sherlock said excitedly. 'Mary, you may want to put on some tea.. There is someone I think it's time you met.' John sent Mary as he and Sherlock got into a cab. Sherlock stayed put outside Mary's flat as he was told while John did some much-needed explaining. "Mary.." "What is it, John? And where is this 'someone' I need to meet at one in the morning?" She asked impatiently. "And why weren't you answering me? I was getting rather worried." "I know. I know and I'm sorry I worried you. And..well it's sort of because the person you are about to meet that I wasn't answering.. On my walk I ended up on Baker Street." Mary instantly softened. "Oh John.. That's what your nightmare was about. It was about him wasn't it?" "Uh..well yes.." "I'm sorry love..." She said sadly. "Oh! So you were at Baker Street! Did you run into Ms. Hudson? Am I finally going to meet her?" She asked, growing excited despite herself. "Um..no. You will soon, if you'd like. Anyways you're meeting someone else tonight.." Receiving another confused and slightly annoyed look from his fiancé he figured he better explain. "Well.. I let myself in to 221B, figuring Ms. Hudson would be asleep...then I heard the sound of a violin being played. I thought that it was Ms. Hudson-she sometimes listens to a recording of Sherlock playing- so I went upstairs and there was a man who looked like Sherlock standing in Sherlock's window with his back to me playing Sherlock's violin.. Naturally I thought I was hallucinating, like you are thinking now, and drew my gun. I made him turn around and well..it was him." As if on cue Sherlock stepped into the doorway. "It was Sherlock." Mary looked from John to Sherlock. Her blue eyes scanned every inch of the tall man as his silver ocean eyes scanned did the same. "You're Sherlock." She stated quietly, meeting his eyes steadily. "Indeed." He answered simply. Mary's eyebrows furrowed together and an angry look passed onto her face, a look John had yet to see, and she took to a tiny bit of a tremor. She clenched her fists together in an attempt to stop their shaking and glared at Sherlock. "Why aren't you six feet in the ground under your gravestone?" She asked, a hint of rage sneaking into her voice. John watched her carefully, shocked yet somehow pleased that his fiancé had a sharp side to her. "Short version? Not. Dead." Without warning Mary shot across the room and landed a hard fist against Sherlock's cheek, cutting it with her engagement ring, she raised her fist again but John was there pulling her away. "Do you have any idea what you've done?! The pain you've caused?!" She roared. Sherlock's steel eyes met John's for a fraction of a second then darted to Mary's, "Mary.. I assure you that I do." "Then why the bloody hell did you hurt him for so long?!" John realized, with a shock, that Mary meant him. "John didn't deserve that!" She growled, shaking John off. Sherlock studied her, "I know. I didn't want to do it but I had to." He said quietly, sorrow creeping back into his voice. "How so?" She asked, her voice still dripping in anger. She fell into her chair and sat her chin in her hand. "I've got all night." "Well Mary. You see..." Sherlock began. An hour and a half later Mary and Sherlock were smiling and talking freely and pleasantly to one another. Sherlock had deduced everything he could about this woman, Mary Morston, who sat across from him and decided that he liked her. She was kind, smarter than most, with an impeccable whit, she had her fiancé's since of humor, but most of all she was John's savior. Sherlock glanced at John, who had fallen asleep on the sofa, with a worried look in his eye. "..he is still angry with me." "Of course he is, Sherlock. You left him for two years without so much as a word..but he's missed you." She said comfortingly. "He's missed you so much, Sherlock, but he can't just forget what you did." "I-I know..I'm glad he found you, Mary." "Me too." She answered, looking at her fiancé's sleeping form. "I don't know what would have happened to him if we hadn't found eachother.. I shudder at the thought." "Thankyou, by the way." He said sincerely. "For what?" She asked, taken aback. "Picking up the pieces that I left.." "Oh.. Of-of course." After a long silence Mary turned to Sherlock. "Why so long?" She asked. "What ever do you mean?" "Why were you gone so long dismantling Moriarty's web? If you were in cahoots with your brother-the infamous Mycroft Holmes.. Shouldn't it have taken less time?" "Ah..I see John has told you about Mycroft. Indeed, it shouldn't have taken so long.." Sherlock sighed. "Some things didn't go as planned.." He said, his eyes beginning to drift. "What happened?" Sherlock didn't answer at first. He took a moment to collect himself, his blank mask went on and he took a deep breath, "Well.. It's a long story." "I've got the rest of the night.." Sherlock glanced at John, making sure he was still fast asleep, and began, "Dismantling the last of Moriarty's web proved to be..difficult..the men who followed him became smarter and we had a difficult time disbanding them. During the last months my brother focused on a group in London's own backyard while I followed a lead. My lead took me to Serbia. I confronted the head man there and when he found out I knew about his involvement with Moriarty.. Well he shot and killed himself. His followers blamed his death on me and some believed I had killed him and, no matter what evidence I provided to prove that he'd killed himself, they would not listen. And so for a half a day I ran through town and forest. But they followed.. by nightfall there was a chopper above and forty men either chasing me or ready to ambush me. They stunned me and I woke up in a cell, chained to the walls. It took three months for Mycroft himself to pose as one of them and work himself up the ranks to get to me. If I hadn't been so ready to be finished with Moriarty and all he stands for, so ready to come back home, I would have waited for my brothers concentration on the group here in London to cease before taking on such a huge band of criminals. If I had just been patient I would have been home sooner.. But I'm not a patient man- I wanted it to be over right then and there. I wanted everyone to be out of danger and safe and come back home..breathe in London again..that, Mary, is why it took so long for me to return. Why I could never risk saying anything to- or about- John for fear that he and my friends would be put in danger once again. I had to finish what I started..." "Sherlock." Mary and Sherlock jumped at the sound of John's voice and found his blue eyes piercing into Sherlock. "How long?" "Pardon? I'm sorry John, I didn't know you'd awoken-" "How long ago was it that Mycroft brought you back from Serbia?" John demanded, getting to his feet. Seeing Sherlock's blank mask begin to take over he angrily grabbed Sherlock's shoulder, noting the wince it evoked from the dark haired man. He couldn't let Sherlock get away from this-he had to know. "How long, Sherlock?" "It.. It's been two days since he brought me back." Sherlock told him, shock and fear leaking into his voice. "I'm sorry John, I suppose that I should have came to you two days ago-" "No." John infuriated. "No. Don't apologize. What were you doing for those two days, Sherlock-" "John-" Mary tried. "No, this is important. What were you doing, Sherlock?" He demanded, still he didn't get a response. "You were at the hospital, weren't you?!" Sherlock suddenly became still and silent as a statue, the will to breathe leaving him. "Oh don't think I didn't notice Sherlock! I've spent way to long with you to not be observant and, as you seem to forget, I was a doctor and I can see the signs!" "John, signs of what?" Mary asked, frantically trying to calm her fiancé to no avail, John was pissed; Sherlock had been gone two years and was still keeping things from him. "Pain. Sherlock has always covered up what he was feeling. But I've noticed little things here and there since he's been back. You've been fidgety," he said to Sherlock. "which isn't like you at all, you can't move to fast without your face skewing for a moment. You won't sit with your back on anything and when you accidentally did in the taxi you jumped and almost yelped. I heard the end of your conversation- about you being captured and being back for two days. You love this city, you know it like the back of your hand, as soon as you were in range you would've been back here.. But you waited for two days. You were captured in Serbia for three months before Mycroft got you out. You are skinner than you were before and you are in obvious pain, so where you in those two days? You would have to be forced not to return to London.. So what would compel Mycroft, of all people, to force you to stay? You were hurt; your brother is never around unless you are hurt or if you're in danger. So, Sherlock, what happened in Serbia? And don't you dare hold anything from me, you were gone for TWO years and you hurt me more than you will EVER know! I'm sick of the lies, Sherlock Holmes, so tell me what happened in Serbia." With a shock John realized that Sherlock wasn't looking at him, but looking through him, tears had welled in his silver ocean eyes he had paled significantly. John couldn't help but soften, "..Sherlock?" He put his hand lightly on his shoulder and Sherlock flinched violently at the light touch, his eyes focused back to John and the tears spilled over. "Sherlock..please tell me.." "I-I can't.." He stuttered, his voice small and broken. "What do you mean?" "I-I found, when the doctors where questioning me, that I..I cant talk about it..they had to examine and guess at what might've happened. I can't tell you what happened without getting lost in my mind palace.. In that cell.." His eyes started to drift again and John brought him back by calling name. "S-sorry. I-I may not be able to tell you.. But you're a doctor.. If I show you and let you make your assumptions.. Will you be satisfied?" He asked, his slender fingers raking through his curls, his breathing too fast and his eyes darted nervously. John looked into Sherlock's eyes, unable to be angry with Sherlock in the state he was in. "Sherlock, you need to breathe." He said gently. "In. Out. In. Out." Once Sherlock was breathing a little more normal he stood to his feet. His entire body was trembling as he removed his coat and draped it over the chair. "A-are you sure you want to see this..? The doctors who took care of me worked in the trauma unit- and even they were shocked.." He told John unsteadily. "I need to know, Sherlock.." Sherlock's breathing began to speed up again as he slowly unbuttoned his shirt. His torso alone was littered with scars and bruises and little burns here and there, there was also a healing bullet wound on his shoulder. Then he completely removed his shirt. John could see that the scars got thicker and more grotesque on his sides, telling John that Sherlock's back was somehow worse than his front. Sherlock took a deep breath and closed his eyes before turning around so that his back was to John and Mary. A shocked gasp escaped them both; Mary's hand clasped over her mouth and John swallowed back disgust. "My god-" escaped John's lips and before he realized it he was moving towards Sherlock. "...Sherlock.." His fingers trailed over the space around his best friend's back, afraid that if he touched Sherlock in the slightest that he would break apart. Sherlock's back was a mess of wounds and bruises. Most of it was covered in welts.. It seemed that the welts were from some sort of whip and he'd been whipped to the point that his skin ripped open; those ripped open wounds had been sewn together. There were multiple thin lacerations that seemed to be from a knife. Then there were burns.. They were on his back and arms and seemed as if they had come from a lit cigarette. His wrists were cut into by some sort of cuffs and there were electrical burns on random places. He was very malnourished and signs showed that he was getting over dehydration, making John wonder how often he was given food or water during those three months. There was a surgical incision where the doctors likely had to stop internal bleeding and bruises where they'd restarted his heart. So he'd been beaten, cut, whipped, burned, electrocuted, starved and probably much much more. "Sherlock.." John accidentally let his fingertips touch Sherlock's shoulder and froze when he flinched violently away. He quickly slid his shirt back on, wincing as he did it and began buttoning up his shirt. "Shouldn't you at least have a surgical dressing around these? What were the other injuries?" John asked after collecting himself. He saw the far off look gathering in Sherlock's eyes again, "Hey, Sherlock." Sherlock's eyes refocused on him. "Don't go into the cell, concentrate on what the doctors were saying. Now, what were you other injuries?" Sherlock pressed his fingertips into his temples in concentration. "It's hard John..." He said, closing his eyes. "The cell is right behind me-concentrate. Concentrate-doctors-doctors..ugh..three...Three broken ribs. Punctured lung. Concussions. Internal bleeding. Internal burns. Dislocated shoulder. Organ damage. Severely malnourished. Severely dehydrated. Signs of ra-ugh!" Sherlock groaned and stopped himself. His eyes opened and he blinked away tears, he cleared his throat and turned to John. "..okay?" John swiped away tears of his own and suddenly his arms were around Sherlock's shoulders. "Oh Sherlock..I'm so sorry." John poured out. "F-for what?" John pulled back and grasped Sherlock's shoulder as gently as possible. "For attacking you Sherlock. I must've hurt you-A few of your stitches have come undone. Also for being so cross with you for not telling me everything.. While you were listing off your injuries I-I realized something.." John took a rasping breath. "When you told me why you faked your death.. I didn't realize or take into account how hard it must've been for you to stay away from London, let alone how dangerous it must've been.. Then I find out you've been tortured-and that's putting it lightly- for me.. I have no place to be angry with you, Sherlock, you are my best friend and I should have been patient with you. Apologizes cannot express how incredibly sorry I am.." John told him, his voice raspy. He hated seeing this side of Sherlock and knew that his friend was unhappy with showing his emotions. He had to change the subject.. But how? A bright light went off in John's head; "and since your back, well.. Would you be my best man at my wedding?" Sherlock froze again, his eyes wide and staring, and he stayed that way...for a long time...for a very long time. "Sherlock!" Mary shouted with John for the fifteenth time, snapping the frozen man out of his trance. "You..hmph.." He started, his mouth closing and opening as if he wanted to say more but didn't know the words(for once). "You mean in fact. .." His brows furrowed. John sat back and watched as Sherlock's mind raced, amused but thrilled he'd chased the cell in Sherlock's mind palace back into the depths. "Yes." John said, attempting to make him carry on. "I'm..your..best friend?" He asked looking shocked. "Yea.. Yea Sherlock, of course you are. You're my best friend." "Oh. Well um.." He shook his head, attempting to clear it. "You're my best friend too, John.. My only friend. Of course..I would be honored to be your best man." He shook his head again. "I'd better be off." He said grabbing his coat off the back of the chair. "I am being forced into visiting Mycroft's doctor for another surgery in two hours." He scowled. "Oh, alright. Well, I'll walk you out." John said, shrugging on his coat as Sherlock did the same. Sherlock turned to Mary, took her hand and grasped it both of his. "It was a pleasure to meet you, Mary. Thankyou, again." "Nice to meet you too, Sherlock. And of course." She smiled, leaned up and kissed Sherlock's cheek. "See you again soon." Sherlock smiled back and tied his scarf around his neck. As the tall, dark haired man left her apartment with her soon to be husband, Mary couldn't help but smile; somehow feeling as if a boulder was lifted from her shoulders. With a start she realized that, although she'd brought John out of his depression about Sherlock, she'd unknowingly put it on her own shoulders. John wasn't fully happy when Sherlock was gone, it was as if a part of her beloved had crashed to the concrete along with his best friend. Now Sherlock was back and so was that missing piece of John, she could see it in the way he walked, in his smile, his laugh, and in his eyes. The limp was gone, his smile was genuine, his laugh was happier and his eyes were brighter. The John she strived to fix when she fell in love with him was suddenly there, thanks to a man long dead. She watched the two friends on the street below from the window, a light laugh escaped her lips at the shock on Sherlock's face as John hugged him goodbye. Sherlock turned away to get into the taxi then froze and turned back to John, he said something that made John laugh, in return Sherlock smiled lopsidedly at his friend. Then the mysterious detective was off to Baker Street. John waved goodbye and came back up to the flat, still chuckling as he hung up his jacket. "What's funny?" Mary asked curiously. "Hmm? Oh ugh.. Sherlock remembered that I had commented on the fact that he should have been wrapped up in surgical dressings- the doctors tried to put some on him him while he was awake and all up on medication..needless to say they didn't try again." He chuckled and shook his head. "Oh Mary.. It's good to have him back.. I missed him." "I know." She smiled. "Let's get some rest. We need it after all this insanity." "Defiantly." John agreed, planting a happy kiss on her nose. "Sherlock Holmes is back in London; the place is going to implode." 


End file.
